


Bonus Track

by OutlandishNotion



Series: B-side Tracks [2]
Category: Katana ZERO (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Girl Is Real, One Shot, Post-Canon, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29383626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutlandishNotion/pseuds/OutlandishNotion
Summary: A psychotherapist is approached by a little girl with gossip about her dad.(A short coda toB-side)
Series: B-side Tracks [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158470
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Bonus Track

**Author's Note:**

> B-side left me with unused inspiration for a scene starring the little girl. After finishing, the desire to write her got so strong that this happened. A little sugar on top, if you will. (And now I'm done for real.)

It was a clear day in early spring, and I was in the middle of explaining the basics of CBT to a client when my phone started ringing. Since my incoming calls were routed through the receptionist during ongoing sessions, the interruption was unusual.

“My apologies—do you mind if I take this?”

At the client’s affirmation, I picked up the receiver.

“Hey, doc?” It was the receptionist, sounding a little distracted. “Can you come down for a sec?”

“I’m with a client.”

“Yea, I know, but there’s a child here.”

“A child? No parents?”

“No, just her. Says she wants to see you.”

Somewhere beyond her, I could hear the muffled sound of someone talking in a lively manner. There was a moment of distraction as the receptionist lowered the receiver and responded to her guest. My initial apprehension was calmed by the easygoing nature of the chatter.

She picked the phone back up. “The kid’s, uh, quite intent,” she said with growing exasperation. “Could you just pop in and talk to her? She’s refusing to speak with me and won’t leave.”

“All right,” I replied, although unsure what could possibly be needed of me.

At least I couldn’t accuse life for ever getting too predictable. Once more I apologized to my client—who fortunately seemed to be finding some humor in my predicament—and rushed downstairs.

Sure enough, on the reception desk was sitting a young girl of maybe five or six, wearing a bright red skirt and a school backpack. She was busy gluing post-it notes in a colorful arrangement all across the top of the desk, her pigtail buns bouncing along with her concentrated movements. As I arrived, the receptionist looked at me with pleading eyes and gestured towards the mystery child.

“Um, hello there,” I greeted to catch the girl’s attention, trying not to show my nervousness. Admittedly, I had no idea how to talk to children. The youngest people I was in regular contact with were my rare teenage clients. "I heard you wanted to talk to me."

The child, on the other hand, was the polar opposite of nervous. She perked up her head and keenly stared me down.

“Hi,” she said, almost businesslike. “Did you see my dad?”

The forthright question threw me off. “Are you looking for him?”

“No,” she responded in a patient tone, like I was being silly. “I said, did you _see my dad_?”

“Oh, you mean as a client?”

“That’s right,” she said, proud of my eventual uptake. “He would’ve been here last winter. He was very sad.”

It took me a moment to connect the dots, but soon my eyes widened at the realization of who this girl had to be. “Your dad, did he have a rather particular way of dressing?”

The girl’s face widened into a big smile. “I knew this was the place!” she exclaimed and clapped her hands.

“Are we talking about the ninja dude?” the receptionist interjected, her curiosity piqued. “Funny, I’d never have guessed that guy was old enough to have a kid.”

“He’s not a ninja, he’s a samurai,” the girl corrected with utmost seriousness.

“How about we go to discuss this in the waiting room?” I butted back in, giving the receptionist a side glance. “For the sake of confidentiality.” Uncertain whether a kid would understand the word, I added weakly: “And, um, so we can both sit down.”

“Okay,” she said, clearly unimpressed with my reasoning, but gracious enough to indulge me.

I was about to wonder how to help her down from the reception desk, but she leapt off before I had a chance to even lift my arms, striking a pose as she landed on the floor. She straightened up and impatiently awaited that I lead the way.

“You were pretty easy to find,” she prattled while following me to the waiting area. “I was ready to go through the whole phone book, but I started with the cheapest one, and here you are.”

She picked a plastic chair at random, hopped on it and looked at me expectantly, as if waiting for some kind of comment on her detective work.

“That’s sharp of you,” I admitted and settled next to her, crouching to reach her eye level. “Does your dad not know you’re here?”

“Nope, I snuck out straight from school,” she said in a conspiratorial tone.

“Don’t you think he might get worried?”

“Um…” A hint of remorse snuck in. “I’ll go home real soon, okay? I just wanted to give you this.”

With the same promptness that seemed to characterize her every action, she took off her backpack and opened it. After a bit of rummaging, she pulled out a piece of paper and held it out to me.

I took it. A strange lightness settled in my chest as I looked over the drawings that filled it, recognizing the style as the one I’d once seen scribbled on a homemade scarf. They were meticulously colored in with what had to be quite a remarkable collection of marker pens, judging by the amount of hues present.

“That’s you,” she said, pointing at a figure to the left. “Well, it’s an elephant, but I didn’t know what you look like and I was learning how to draw elephants. This one’s my dad, and this next to him is a brachiosaurus. Its name means arm lizard, did you know that?”

I nodded along, following her finger as it darted across the paper. “Is that you, over there?”

“Next to the Pocketmon stadium? Yep, and that’s me and Leviathan. We're on season three now, it’s really cool, and dad says it’s not even the best part yet. I was gonna draw what would happen if I was in it but I messed up so that became the moon, instead.”

“I think it’s beautiful.”

“Yeah? Good, because it’s your gift. For helping out dad.”

Gently, I laid the drawing on my lap. “How is he, these days?”

“He’s good.” There was something in the subtle way she emphasized her reply that gave it weight far beyond the simple meaning of the word.

“I’m glad,” I replied with similar emphasis.

“I asked if he’d come and tell you. He’s a bit funny about some things, you know.” Her animated face mellowed a little, and her voice gained some unexpected maturity. “I figured he wouldn’t but I still wanted to say thanks, so I came by myself.”

“That’s a sweet thought.”

“He never talked about his appointments much, but I knew it was important. He used to be so sad, and now he’s not.”

I fell quiet for a moment, considering how to answer. “If there was anything he did always like to talk about, it was you. I must say, it’s a treat to get to meet you in person.”

“Oh yeah?” She grinned. “What’d he say? Nice things?”

“Very much so.”

“Gosh, what a dweeb.”

That made me laugh, and the girl looked pleased with the response. Done with what she’d come here to do, she closed up her backpack. After quickly running a hand across its surface to make sure none of the many stickers on it were peeling off, she swung it on her back and jumped off the chair.

I hesitated, unsure what to do with this child about to head out into traffic. “I have to get back to my client, but if you’re willing to wait a moment longer, I could make sure you get home safely.”

“Nah, it’s not far. I’ll be fine—I’m an adventurer.”

“If you’re sure,” I conceded with a slight sense of déjà vu.

Careful to keep hold of her gift, I followed in her wake as she scurried back into the reception area.

She stopped when she noticed the receptionist in process of cleaning up some of the post-it notes that had overtaken the desk. “Aw, you didn’t like them?”

Wordlessly, the receptionist returned the pink note she’d been holding back to its position on top of the telephone. I gave her a silent thumbs-up.

“It’s important to decorate,” the girl explained on the way to the exit. “Colors make people happy.”

“I will trust your judgment on that,” I said, earnest.

I held the door open for us to slip out onto the street, into the pleasant warmth of the afternoon sun. The past few weeks of mild, sun-filled days had brought spring closer than I’d realized, spending most of my time cooped up in the office.

“You’ll be fine, yeah?” I checked one more time with the girl who was bouncing on her heels, eager to go.

“Yep.” She turned around just to give me a performative eyeroll.

“Feel free to say hi to your dad from me.”

“Sure thing,” she said, unceremonious as ever. “Well, bye!”

Without further fanfare she took off along the pavement, trotting past the few pedestrians in her way, and leaving me standing at the door in a state of loose bewilderment that solidified into a strange feeling of fondness by the time I’d turned back around.

I knew where she got that from.


End file.
